


Team Fortress Meets Game of Thrones

by TheeWrites_TF2



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Team Fortress 2
Genre: Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Graphic Description, House Frey - Freeform, House Grey, House Hale, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Violence, iron islands, it gets bloody, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 18:19:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12687672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheeWrites_TF2/pseuds/TheeWrites_TF2
Summary: House Hale, the ruling house of Westeros, is in disarray after King Barnabus Hale is murdered by Lannister assassin, paid for by the rising House of Grey. His grandson, now the heir of the Iron Throne, is touring the continent, to quote, ‘kick the ass of every traitor, lion, bear and trout’ while enemy forces gather around, preparing for war and ending the once great and mighty House of Hale, permanently. The continent is in ruins, and the bannerman of House Hale, the Men of the Iron Islands, are being hunted down and slaughtered, in an attempt to weaken Saxtons supporters.And Lawrence of House Mundy, bannermen and the greatest ally of House Hale, has just been cornered by the wrong men…(Sniper Origin Story in a Game of Thrones AU, enjoy and proceed with caution, because there IS MAJOR violence here!)





	Team Fortress Meets Game of Thrones

**Author's Note:**

> A.N. Game of Thrones... Man, what a book series/Show, am I right? Well, with such a violent tone in that, and add in the insanity of Team Fortress, I think I managed to make a pretty decent crossover fic! Will I continue this as a series? Meh, probably not, But if anyone else wants to continue it, go ahead! I don't mind!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy my attempt at crossing a fantasy series with Team Fortress! Feel free to give feedback! And see you in Part 2!

_House Hale, the ruling house of Westeros, is in disarray after King Barnabus Hale is murdered by Lannister assassin, paid for by the rising House of Grey. His grandson, now the heir of the Iron Throne, is touring the continent, to quote, ‘kick the ass of every traitor, lion, bear and trout’ while enemy forces gather around, preparing for war and ending the once great and mighty House of Hale, permanently. The continent is in ruins, and the bannerman of House Hale, the Men of the Iron Islands, are being hunted down and slaughtered, in an attempt to weaken Saxtons supporters._

_And Lawrence of House Mundy, bannermen and the greatest ally of House Hale, has just been cornered by the wrong men…_

* * *

 

As a child, it was a requirement to swim. Boys, as young as three, would be practically shoved into the foamy waves of the sea, as proud parents watched their children punch the waves with their arms, yelling battlecries as their natural urge to swim kicked in. Lawrence had his first experience with swimming a bit differently. His father, a true man of Ironborn, didn't shove him off a cliff overlooking the Steel Bay. Instead, he vividly remembers his father taking him to a small pond inland, away from the salty waves. His father had sat down somewhere nearby, whistling as he sharpened his knife against a stone, letting his young son of five learn to swim on his own.

Lawrence remembers going under those calm, bright waves the first time, his blue eyes wide as he stated at the world under water. His arms moved on their own accord, his body seemed to be hard-drived to swim. It was going so well, until he made the mistake of opening his mouth under water. He had only been under for seconds longer, before his father had yanked up out and into safety of air. It hadn't been traumatic for the boy, considering he immediately wanted to go back under and try again. He had enjoyed that new, hidden world under the waves, he couldn't imagine not seeing it again.

Nineteen years later, as his head was forcefully held under the waters of a lake near the Riverlands, he prayed to all the gods of the world, to take the horrid water away from him. His chest burned with need, and though he whipped his head wildly, large fingers, cruelty gripping his brown locks, kept his face deep under the dark waves. His eyes were blown wide open, but they might as well have been shut, the water was so dark. Dark, dangerous, a killer. The island-born man, terrified of a pond on the mainland.

The other Ironborn, whomever was still alive, would've mocked him for years.

The young man felt the fingers in his hair tighten, and he was yanked out of the water, thrown onto his back unceremoniously. His tortured lungs heaved as he gasped for air, choking as the leftover water raced down his throat. Lawrence twisted desperately his restrained hands useless behind him as he clawed at the earth, staring up at the night sky as he tried to turn over, get the water out, out, _out_ …

Rough hands grabbed his shoulders with a mocking laugh, shoving him up and onto his stomach. “C'mon, boy! Can't have you dying soon now!” Lawrence ignored this, in favor of coughing and choking his guts out, his body heaving monstrously with every breath his body took in. Several feet away, warmed by the campfire and quite dry, the small group of Frey soldiers watched the man suffer in amusement. “Thought the Ironblood could hold their breath from sundown till dawn!” One of the bastards stated, downing his hug of ale, having the luxury of knowing his next breath was certain. “You've barely been underwater for ten minutes!”

“Perhaps another round will awaken the fish in him!” Another taunted, and Lawrence weakly lifted his head, silent begging slipping past his lips, and the soldiers laughed. “C'mon, fish! Don't you want to swim?” His captor, the one who held him under the water, grinned a black-toothed rotten grin, reaching for the trembling man once again. Lawrence gritted his teeth, and in a burst of energy, slammed his untied feet against the Frey, sending him down into the rocky, muddy shore of Lake Catelyn. Weak as he was, he found some strength still within fling himself at the fallen man, teeth snarling and catching the soldiers nose, a satisfying crunch and the taste of blood filling his senses.

A bellow, and a sharp blow to his face sent the Ironborn flying, and he shouted in agony as he landed on his side, where his ribs had been broken when these Frey men first caught him. The soldier scrambled up, his buddies all standing and their ale gone, replaced with blades. “You shit!” The man snarled, hand grasping his bleeding nose as he stalked towards Lawrence, before one of the older soldiers, a greying veteran stood between the two. “Enough of this meaningless torment, he's kicking your ass while restrained and half drowned.” He grunted, glaring down at the Frey man while the other men jeered and mocked from the campfire. “Hurry up and kill him, then we can head East to meet the Commander.” He ordered, and the younger man glared definitely for a moment, before looking distastefully at the captured Ironborn.

“Fine.”

Lawrence's pale blue eyes flew wide, and he tried to wiggle away, until the man grabbed him by the front of his collar, yanking him upright. Lawrence saw the man smirk, the blood dripping from his bitten nose, and Lawrence grinned, his teeth still stained with the same blood. “Least you won't be forgetting me.” He murmured, nodding to the wound. The Frey bared his rotten teeth, before cracking a gloved fist across the Ironborns face, still holding him up by his vest.  Lawrence hissed out as he felt the bruise begin to form, but pain quickly blossomed in his chest as the rotten-toothed Frey slammed a knee into his already broken ribs, and the hiss became a horrible scream. He felt the world swirl before he was slammed back to the present, as the Frey flung him onto the harsh ground.

A boot landed directly on his stomach, knocking the wind out of the young Ironborn. Lawrence Mundy squeezed his eyes shut as the blows kept coming, praying to the gods, ANY gods, to let him finally lose consciousness. Get away from the pain, end his suffering, dammit. _Anything._ There was pause in the assault, and Mundy breathed out in relief, his breath wheezing and causing his chest to ache. He attempted to remain still, look dead. The ropes on his wrists were loosening, and once the pain passed, he could crawl away, escape, go _home-_

Then a knife was plunged into his abdomen, and Lawrence's eyes flung open as he choked out in horror, eyes meeting the twisted, dark eyes of the Frey soldier looming over him. “Pity I can’t stay to watch you bleed out.” He smirked, before pulling his hand way, leaving the blade sticking out of the Ironborns body. “But here’s a little something to remember me by.” A cruel, mocking laugh sounded and the man turned and walked back to the campfire, while Lawrence still struggled to comprehend the amount of burning, furious pain that radiated throughout his body. He gritted his teeth, attempting to halt all movement in his body as darkness started to edge his vision, and a warm oozing sensation began to spread from the knife wound. Mundy refused to look down at the sight, laying his head back down and closing his eyes, allowing the blackness fill his senses.

* * *

 

When the sun arose the next morning, about three miles south of Lake Catelyn, a raven flew overhead, a ribbon keeping its cargo secure to its feet. Then, a rock hit the bird perfectly, and it fell with a thump.

From the tree below, came a whoop. “Did you see that?!” Cried a young, honey-haired man, who began to climb down to pick up the bird, a slingshot still in hand. “One hit, and it was out like a light!” He scooped up the raven, then frowned when he saw the ribbon and paper connected to the deceased creature, reaching for it, “Oh, what do we have here…?”

Suddenly, a gloved hand smacked the back side of his head, before taking the bird from his grasp, “What in seven hells is wrong with you!” An older, more suited man snapped, eyes dark. Dellors, a lower born man with no true house, glared at Jeremi, a squire of House Tyrell with frustration in his eyes. “Boy, the bird did nothing to you, what gave you the right to end its life?” He snapped, and Jeremi rolled his eyes. ‘Ok, but look at the bird real quick, it has a-!” Suddenly shoving the bird under the younger boys nose, Dellors growled, “Unless you plan to eat it, _don’t kill the animals.”_ The squire grimace in disgust and tried to swat the offending hand and fresh bird corpse away. “Alright, alright! I’ll make an attempt to remember that next time, but LOOK!”

The blacksmith sighed, and finally looked down at the bird, then blinked upon seeing the message attached to it. Gently, he turned the bird over to inspect the message, then frowned grimly. “Ah hell…” He growled, then looked at the boy. “We have to show the others,” He demanded firmly, and quickly turned back into the brush. The boy quickly followed, “Hey, what does it say? Is it important?” Dellors called over his shoulder, “It’s addressed the Grey forces. It ain’t good.” Jeremi growled low in his throat, picking up speed to bypass the blacksmith and storm towards camp.

The Grey House had come out of nowhere. A small, less than a dozen people actually within the house, no one had heard of it… not until it was too late. Barnebus, the King of the Seven Kingdoms, had been murdered in the capital less than three months ago, by a Lannister assassin, paid and supplied by Grey. Immediately following, Grey and his allies. had stormed and taken control of the capital, causing dozens of ancient houses to flee… Along with the heir of the Iron Throne. Since then, it’s been House against House, everyone fighting on who to back for the Iron throne.

Jeremi had a personal score to settle with House Grey, if the reports of the civil-war within House Tyrell was to be correct. Though he had left the Tyrell lands a few years ago, his dear mother still remained. And the fact that she was still there, while the Ancient House fought against it self for power and control, was the thing that kept the ex-squire up at night. He was willing to do everything and anything to stop this war, if only his mother made it out unscathed.

That was why he was travelling with this mismatched group of misfits and sell-swords. They were going to bring back Prince Saxton, destroy the traitor Houses, and annihilate House Grey.

.... that was the plan anyway.

As Jeremi dropped into camp, he saw the other sell-swords and mystery men he had been banded together. The gigantic Northerner, Mikhail, was the first to notice his reappearance, nudging the Arrayn healer, Ludwing. “Ah, boy! You didn’t happen to find those leaves I sent you for?” Ludwing asked cheerfully, causing the younger male to scowl. “Oh, I found it… Now i’ve got a rash all over my backside, you ass.” Ludwing chuckled, an unnerving gleam in his eyes. Across the fireplace, a dark skinned Riverlands native snorted and chortled, “Told ya he would fall for it!” He sniggered, “Me own father pulled that trick, when I tried to ‘borrow’ his battle axe.” Tavish of House Degroot scowled at the memory, then shuddered. “‘Cept he dropped it in me soup. Bad, _bad_ month for ten-year-old Tavish.”

Jeremi strode past the three men, crossing his arms. “Whatever, we got news. BIG news… About Grey.” Almost immediately, the cheery tone around the campfire ceased… Then a huge, armor clad man fell from the sky.

Or rather, the trees above. Janas dropped to his feet before the fire, eyes darting around gleefully. “The traitors are upon us, I knew it!” He pulled out a saber sword, worn and still bloodied from the groups last misadventure. “Men, it is time to prepare for our inevitable demise by the traitor's of Grey! Jeremi, go get the liquid poison ivy, if we smother ourselves in it, the traitors will run in fear of our fearlessness and the contagious rashes on our-”

“I highly doubt there is a battle on the way, Soldier. So, _please_ , don’t go any further with that plot.” A smooth, thickly accented voice sounded from the nearby tree line, and the Essosi sell-sword, simply known as Spy, moved into sight, eyes narrowed at the young ex-squire. “Perhaps the boy was simply imagining enemies around every corner.” He mocked, and Jeremi scowled at the older man. “No, that’s not it. Dellors and I, we found a messenger raven.”

“Addressed to Grey himself.” Dellors emerged from the brush, frowning as he inspected the exterior of the message. Immediately, he had almost the entire group, except for Spy, surrounding him, demanding answers.

“Do they know we’re after them?!?”

“Was the Old Woman a traitor?!”

“WHEN IS THE ATTACK?!”

“Shut it, all of you!” He snapped, shoving them away. “I haven’t even read it yet, so hush!” After a moment of silence, Dellars was satisfied enough to untie the ribbon, and flick it open, the weight of five other men on his shoulders.

* * *

 

Several miles away, a tortured growl slipped past bloodied lips as Lawrence Mundy dragged himself over the pebbled ground, a trail of blood following in his wake. The dagger that had been stuck within himself was discarded and tossed away, a dangerous choice, but it offered less-lasting pain. His eyes were almost permanently glued shut in pain, but he could hear the water of Lake Catelyn close by. If he could just wash the blood off…

* * *

 

Dellors frowned, eyes wide as they took in the contents. “Tavish, how far is Catelyn Lake from here?” He demanded suddenly, and the native Riverlander frowned. “Uh… Less than two days time if we rush it… Why?”

* * *

 

He felt water under his fingertips, and almost face dived into the cool, flowing sensation, all thoughts of his previous tortured experience with this particular lake vanishing. Lawrence inhaled the water frantically, then froze as an unfamiliar taste entered his mouth, one that should not be associated with water.

Blood.

* * *

 

The blacksmith began packing his supplies, handing off the message to Spy. “We leave in an hour. Someone find the Pyro before he burns something else, we need to go.” Spy rolled his eyes at the urgency, “Laborer, pray tell, what is so special about getting to Lake Catelyn?” he trailed off as he read the note, frowning. “Oh… that is troublesome.”

Jeremi scowled, stomping his foot like a child, “HEY! Some of us aren’t the greatest at reading, so WHAT DOES THE NOTE SAY?!” Dellars growled in impatience, “Dammit boy! The Ironborn, OUR ONLY REAL ALLIES, were set to evacuate to the Iron Islands following the King’s death, Lake Catelyn was the meeting point!” The boy scoffed, rolling his eyes, “So? They left the country, good for them.” Spy sighed, glancing up from the paper. “They never left the continent, boy.”

* * *

 

Lawrence slowly lifted his head, eyes opening fearfully. In the early hours of the morning, he could finally see the war clearly. What was pitch black, inky darkness where the water was… was not the clear, fresh lake water he had believed it to be. It was… red.

* * *

 

Mikhail raised a brow, “And the message was?”

* * *

 

The IronBorn man felt his eyes dart around the surface of the lake, breath coming quick and panicked as he finally took in the flouting shapes, the red stained clothes, the oh so familiar armor that covered the bodies on the water. He felt his mouth open, and a horrified scream came out.

* * *

 

Dellors sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It said, “‘Lake Catelyn now runs Crimson with the blood of Fishman. The Ironblood are no more.’”

* * *

 

Miles away, Lawrance of House Mundy, banner man and greatest ally to House Hale, was frozen as he screamed, taking in the hundreds upon hundreds of bodies that now filled the lake, the blood of his people diminishing the once clear waters of Lake Catelyn. The blood of the Ironborn, allies, friends, innocents… All the living Ironborn left on Westeros, now dead before one of the few living Ironborn on Westeros soil.

And all Lawrence could do, was stare and scream at such a terrible sight.

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2:  
> November 22


End file.
